


Ignite

by BakaUsagi92



Category: American Gods (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 08:05:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18869149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BakaUsagi92/pseuds/BakaUsagi92
Summary: There are consequences to french kissing your crush before shit hits the fan, but they're not that bad after all.





	Ignite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlaCkreed4](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlaCkreed4/gifts).



> This story takes place immediately after the finale of the second season. There are no major spoilers for the series or the book but be advised. Just a couple quotes of non-essential dialogue and vague references for context of these episodes:  
> \- Season 1 Episode 3  
> \- Season 2 Episode 8
> 
> I haven't written anything in ages, so dear reader be aware that this may very well suck. <3

“’Til death do you part.”  
  
Ifrit did not need to see the grin on Thot’s face: he could hear it carried in the highs and lows of the god’s voice.  
“Sarcasm and death. What a motherfucker.” He said, unable to prevent his own lips from pulling as well.  
  
The Jinn looked on to Salim, nervously fumbling with his helmet, fingers twitching as the man plopped the protection over his head a bit too hard, to then move down and attempt to click the strap under his chin one, two, three times before finally getting it right on his fourth. There was a moment of pause before he turned back to Ifrit, his eyes full of the kind of eagerness only great stress can bring; and how to blame him? The poor guy had just been done barely adjusting to the power of the old gods and had now witnessed that of the new ones, plastering his face on every screen in the country with a terrible, terrible label attached to it.  
  
Well, _this_ deity didn’t need any words, it was pretty clear what the human wanted. Ifrit hurried down the steps to close the gap between him and the sidecar they shared and hopped on, waiting for his partner to strap in; the vehicle gave a groggy rumble as he pulled the accelerator and set off, away from Cairo Illinois, away from the Ibis and Jacquel Funeral Parlor.  
The ride was going to be long, and the Jinn did not quite look forward to it; too much time to think. Not to mention, riding a bike for such a long time has _awful_ effects on balls, makes them feel like scrambled eggs by the time you get off.  
  
Salim was lucky enough to be still alive and free, and he was well aware of that; something had happened, Allah had wished for him to survive whatever had just gone down, and he was not about to waste this second chance. He’d much rather leg it while they still had the chance, now that his Jinn seemed inclined to it.  
The man scrunched in his sidecar, sparing a couple of glances towards the god at his side as they drove away at what felt like a snail’s pace; his heart seemed about to burst out of his throat to say hello to the world, and yet… below the fear, the stress, the anger, there was something else: ever since that first night, Ifrit had barely touched him again, let alone kissed him; Salim realised the feeling lying under everything else was giddiness.  
The human had given up everything to follow him, but the little spark of hope inside him had started to dwindle seeing how distant his god had become recently, always keeping him at an arm’s length and constantly trying to convince him to go home.  
Go home to what? Now that his eyes were open, now that he’d seen the true fabric of the world, what could he possibly have gone back to?  
  
Salim’s thoughts were not far from the Jinn’s, as he gripped the bike’s handles and started on the open road; ever since they reunited he’d been well aware of the man’s stares and glances, of his hesitating movements towards him only to retreat back. He’d tried hard, so hard to keep the human away, to keep him safe on the brink of this war, and it had all been for absolutely nothing. Quite the opposite, it had almost all gone to _shit_.  
Had Ifrit had it his way, the other man would be driving a taxi in a town far away, cruising under his protection, but with his mind away from the god.  
Or so he thought.  
Because when the time came, when Ifrit thought that this was going to be it and Salim was going to be lost in the gods’ game, he’d found himself genuinely scared: _talk to me_ , he’d begged, only to hear his voice again because it might’ve been the last time. Of course Salim had talked, spoken words that had struck him to his core.  
  
_“I do not know what we are going to be, but I want you to know I don’t regret any of it. You taught me how to love.”_  
  
How fucking corny was that? And yet, for the first time in a long while the old and powerful Jinn had felt his whole body skip a beat, felt warmth rise down to his hands, up to his throat, a heat he just _had_ to relief. Next thing he knew, Salim’s head was firmly grasped within his palms and he was kissing him, without thought or reason, just to taste him one last time. A worthy and sincere goodbye.  
But it wasn’t the last time. And now, despite being glad of whatever divine intervention had reset the funeral home’s front yard, Ifrit found his palms had started sweating, and his throat had gone dry. He was not ready for what was to come.  
After all, the trip was long, and they would eventually have to make a stop.  
  
  
They made several, as a matter of fact: for Salim to pray, eat, piss, drink. Ifrit refused to stop so he could admire the view -green hills where the wind flirted with grass and softly waved it- but the man did not mind; or well, he minded a lot, but tried not to show it.  
When dark came, however, the Jinn knew it was time to turn the bike off; despite his attempts at annoying the human enough so he’d fuck off back home, he did not wish to scrape Salim-jelly off the asphalt if he’d dozed off and fell off the sidecar.  
‘Resolutions Motel’. Fitting.  
The room felt small and claustrophobic after the time spent on roads with nothing but wind and birds around, and the small beds were only divided by a _very_ small, chipped bedside table. The magenta wallpaper was peeling off in a bunch of spots, the tv looked like a fire hazard, and the bathroom was clean, but had only enough space for a tiny shower and the toilet. No sink, but a small shelf with a complementary water bottle and a couple of glasses to brush your teeth in.  
  
“Well,” Salim scrunched his nose slightly, glancing at the very small window on one of the walls. “this is cozy.”  
There was a hesitant note in his voice, almost as if it was a question he was asking the room, or Ifrit. The usually positive human seemed to still not have shaken the events that had transpired off his shoulders. He walked to one of the beds and set his bag on it, before sitting and finding out it was _very_ creaky.  
  
“Go wash first.” The Jinn said, taking off his sunglasses and setting them on the bedside table; when he turned to Salim, he met his stare: the man’s eyes were fixed on his, flaming and illuminating his face slightly. “Salim.”  
  
The man’s head twitched slightly, as he focused on here and now again, and he just nodded, twisting his torso to retrieve clean underwear from his bag before heading for the bathroom. He closed the door behind him and sighed, running a hand through his short hair and scratching his beard in one smooth motion. He stood there for a few seconds, his fingers still curled on his cheek, and now that they were off the road he realised how tired he was.  
Salim stayed in the shower longer than he needed, letting the surprisingly warm water roll off his back; he almost dozed off a couple times, and when he realised his eyes were getting heavy again he turned the faucet off, threw clean underwear on and went back to the main part of the room, rubbing his head with a towel; Ifrit was sitting on the bed, still clothed, mindlessly trying every channel on the tv looking for anything other than static.  
  
The Jinn turned to the man, fiery eyes lingering on him long enough that Salim thought he was plotting how to knock him out to leave him behind again, then went back on the tv as a press of a button shut it off.  
“I think we are safe.” He said, tossing the remote on the bedside table. “The signal is shit. I don’t even think they know this place exists.” The Jinn looked back up, to see a relieved, tired smile on the human’s face. “Get some rest now. It’s a long road ahead still.”  
  
Salim nodded again, tilting his head until he heard a pleasant snap, and climbed into the _extremely_ creaky bed that was still free, crawling under the sheets and pulling them up.  
“Thank you, for this.” He muttered, through a yawn; he received no response.  
He sighed and closed his eyes, allowing himself to relax and Morpheus to take over; just before he fell asleep his mind conjured a fleeting curiosity on how Morpheus could look like right now, and what he could be doing.  
  
  
_Taptaptaptaptap._

When Salim opened his eyes the room was dark, except for a few yellow stripes on the wall in front of him, and the insistent sound that seemed to come from behind him.

_Taptaptaptaptap._

There was a black shape interrupting the stripes, now that his eyes could focus on it better.

_Taptaptaptaptap._

“…Ifrit?” he called, his voice pasty and groggy from sleep.  
The tapping stopped.  
  
“I’m sorry.” Came the soft, low reply from behind him. “I did not mean to wake you up.”  
Salim stretched and rose in a sitting position, rubbing the sleep from his eyes to then turn his head towards the other bed: the Jinn was up and in his underwear, resting his chin on the elbow pinned on the small windowsill, flaming eyes fixed on the outside world; his other hand, also just below the blinds, had the index finger slightly raised above the old wood.  
  
“Is everything okay?”  
  
“Yes. Go back to sleep, it was a long day.” The Jinn did not even turn to face him.  
  
Salim did not reply; instead he pushed the sheets aside, walked to the other bed and sat opposite to the god, joining his hands between his legs and staring at his toes as he twirled them.  
  
“Salim, you should go back to-”  
  
“Are you standing guard?” the human asked, as if Ifrit had not even spoken.  
  
“…yes.”there was a small scoff, and even though he could not see it, he could picture the smile creasing Salim’s lips anyway. “Is it funny?”  
  
“No, it’s very kind.” The other man leaned back, pinning his weight on his hands and tilting his head slightly. “It feels good to know what you were doing.” This time, it was Salim that did not receive an answer; he turned just enough to be able to see, and he reached out a hand, placing it gently on the Jinn’s. “Thank you.”  
  
Ifrit tilted his face to look at him, staring in silence for a bit.  
“Why don’t you speak up?” he received a confused expression in response, so he clarified. “I know what you want from me. Why do you not ask for it?”  
  
Salim looked away, a faint brush of red starting on his cheeks, but his smile was playful and sweet.  
“Because you think you do not grant wishes.” His lips stretched a little more as he felt the Jinn’s hand turn under his to squeeze it gently.  
  
“You seem to disagree with that.”  
  
“I do.”  
  
“You’re wrong.”  
  
Salim shrugged, using his free hand to push himself a little closer. “It’s what I choose to believe.” There was a pause as he went back into looking at the god’s fiery eyes, now reflecting in his own; he could’ve spent a lifetime getting lost in them. “Do you want me to ask?”  
  
Ifrit hesitated, then turned away from the window to face the man, holding his gaze intently.  
“Try it.”  
  
The human smiled again, a subtle and gentle smile that creased his mouth slightly; he shifted on the creaky bed, hoisting his legs on top of the matress to cross them in front of him, so he could face the god completely and be closer; he refused to let go of the other’s hand in the process.  
“Can you kiss me like you did in the funeral home?” he asked.  
  
“No.”  
  
It was such a concise and decisive reply that Salim was taken aback by it, reeling slightly as if an unexpected gust of wind had hit him with more force than he was ready for. He opened his mouth and closed it twice, trying to find something to say.  
“…why not?” he managed to muster in the end.  
  
Ifrit paused; the truth was complicated, and messy, and risky at the same time. It could very easily be a double edged knife. But as he saw his eyes reflected in Salim’s, as he felt the man’s body tense up in the anticipation of the answer, he found that the truth was all he could give.  
“Because I thought you were going to die then.”  
  
The human stared for a few seconds; what did this mean? Did he kiss him to have him die happy? A final favor for a mortal soul? Or…  
“Were you scared?” once again, he did not receive a reply, but this time he didn’t need to: he felt a slight squeeze on his hand, and the Jinn’s eyes left his for a split second. “You were scared.”  
The new smile that crept on Salim’s lips was much wider than usual; something ignited within him, sent butterflies from his stomach shooting straight up to his chest. He leaned forward on the bed, placed his free hand on the god’s cheek cupping it gently, and with a bit of awkward, jittering movements pressed their mouths together. He tensed up, expecting to be rejected, instead he found himself pulled towards Ifrit by strong arms before he could even realise his own hand now sat empty on the bedsheets.  
The Jinn did not push him away; instead he cradled him in his arms and kissed down on him, slowly and deliberately, for what felt like ages. When they separated, Salim was pretty sure his brain had began to melt: he could only give a wonky smile as he filled his lungs with the scent of the god.  
  
Ifrit smelled like the desert night, of ebony statues and sweet fruits. He tasted like an oasis, and that’s what he also felt like to Salim: all he was used to was giving blowjobs in dark alleys with men that feared being exposed for having feelings for other men, and instead thrived in anonimity. No strings, no feelings. Empty.  
But this god. This god had pulled him up from his knees, broken the loop of meccanic behavior and gave oxygen to the embers of his desire. This Jinn, who had offered him only passion and gentleness, that had not thought of just himself and on top of it all had given him a chance to escape a life of misery in a shitty job, this god was his oasis.  
  
Ifrit ran a hand lazily on Salim’s chest, brushing the skin with his fingertips and finding extremely satisfying the twitch of the muscles underneath, as well as the raising of goosebumps. He pushed from underneath the man, finding no resistance, as he guided him while they both moved towards the centre of the bed; he pressed a palm on his chest, so that the human would lean against him, and ran a hand slowly on his thigh.  
His lips found the back of Salim’s neck and placed soft kisses on his shoulders and behind his ears, while under his hand he felt the heartbeat accelerate.  
The fingers on the man’s thighs found their way to his underwear, tracing the edges of his boner; it amazed him, how soft Salim was and yet how hard he could get.  
In return, he received a muffled sigh and a slightly arched back as the man’s body chased his hands; how could one refuse such a polite request?  
  
Salim became sure his brain was no more, replaced by jelly: his heartbeat increased so much he feared he would have a heart attack, and his whole body escaped his control, craving and demanding more; he reached an arm up to nestle his fingers in Ifrit’s hair, grabbing at it like it was the last lifeline between him and a chasm, and in the back of his mind he became aware of the god’s erection pressing on the small of his back. The fleeting thought of giving back was short lived, as Ifrit’s hands slid inside his underwear and grabbed his cock, slowly beginning to stroke him; he gasped and couldn’t hold in a moan, that felt loud as a plane engine in the dark and quiet of the small motel room. As his cheeks flushed in shame at his lack of composure, the man slapped the free hand on his mouth, drowning the sounds that dared roll past his tongue.  
It wasn’t long before Ifrit noticed and replaced Salim’s palm with his fingers.  
Obediently, the human wrapped his lips around them, brushing them with his tongue and sucking on them; he could feel the Jinn’s breath shallow on his shoulder, the tip of his boner brushing against his skin through fabric.  
  
What Salim did not notice was the faded reflection on the window panes, which is what Ifrit’s eyes were fixated on; he wandered over Salim’s body hungrily, admiring the edge where his fingers disappeared in his mouth and the almost elegant curve the man’s back made when he pushed his crocth up for more.  
Whatever doubt was in his mind had been replaced by heat, building up in his chest, in his hands, in his head, in his groin. Almost too much to take.  
He slid his fingers out of Salim’s mouth so fast there was a faint pop, and he dragged his underwear down to the human’s knees, as his now wet digits slid under the perineum; when he found what he was looking for he circled the entrance deliberately slowly, until he felt the other man’s cock twitch in his hands and a frustrated moan slide out of his mouth.  
He stopped everything for a second, committing the reflection on the window to memory to not forget it, then he gave Salim what he wanted: the strokes on his cock increased in speed, and the fingers found their way inside and out.  
  
The human squirmed and pulled at Ifrit’s hair, biting his lips in a desperate attempt to being quiet; there was nothing coherent going on in his head anymore, just reckless abandon to this god that he’d forgotten was _so fucking good_ at this. It was the gentle way he handled Salim, as if he was afraid of breaking him, that sent him to the moon and back; nobody had ever been so considerate before.  
Between gasps and soft moans he called his name, and everytime he did the Jinn granted another wish, going faster, deeper. When he began hitting his sweet spot, Salim thought he was going to die.  
As the orgasm built up there was suddenly alarm bells that had began to push their way to the front of his mind; _it’s going to end too soon._  
Salim yelped a ‘stop’ so desperately that Ifrit froze, tensing up in confusion; they both lay there, the human panting and trying to catch his breath and the god with his hands all over him, wondering what the fuck was happening.  
“N… not yet.” Salim mustered, turning his head to place a soft kiss on the corner of Ifrit’s lips.  
  
It took a second for the Jinn to realise what he meant; he was so caught up in pleasuring him that his brain had a delay. When it clicked, though, he felt a flutter in his stomach, something between wonder and disbelief: the self control that this mortal showed at times amazed him.  
He slid his fingers out and pushed the other man’s underwear completely off his legs, tossing it on the end of the bed, reserving the same fate for his own before hoisting him up so he would nestle between his buttocks.  
“Is this what you want?” he asked, and all he received was a frantic nod.  
Salim moved his legs to hold himself up over his cock, and the Jinn let out a soft gasp when he felt cool fingers grabbing it; the human positioned himself and lowered down slow enough that Ifrit thought he would go crazy, until he was completely inside.  
  
They lay there again, catching their breath, and Salim closed his eyes, reveling in the feeling; his insides felt like they were igniting, but at the same time he was fireproof. He wanted this more than anything else in the world; he’d wanted it ever since their first visit at the hotel in New York.  
Ifrit’s beard scraped his back gently, followed by kisses that left scalding marks in their wake, snapping him out of his brain loop; there was something about this action that felt impatient. How could one refuse such a polite request?  
Salim steadied himself and ground his hips slowly, smiling when he heard a low, pleased grunt behind him; Ifrit’s hands wandered anew, holding his back against the god’s chest and finding his cock again. This time Salim did not give a fuck about not being heard. His grinding turned into lifting and lowering again, at first just barely, then increasing in speed and height; behind him Ifrit pressed his forehead on his back, then slid the palm on his chest up, cupping his throat and forcing him to arch his back so he could kiss and nibble at his neck.  
It was not long before the human’s legs got tired of bouncing, and coupled with the realization that an orgasm was sneaking on him once again Salim stopped once more, drawing a frustrated moan out of the god from the umpteenth halt.  
  
Ifrit was about to protest and give in to just having his way, but he soon realised he didn’t need to: it was only a few seconds before he watched Salim’s back slip away from him, as the man bent forward to rest his weight on his elbows; he caught a glimpse of his hungry glance when the Jinn was the one standing still this time, and something inside him clicked. He moved, drawing out of the mortal another moan that tickled his ears when his cock shifted inside him and slid out, and he settled kneeling behind Salim, running his hands on his ass.  
The man pushed his body back towards him, and he did not need to ask with words: the Jinn made his way back inside, knocking the breath out of him, and began pushing slowly. One of Ifrit’s hands held Salim’s hip, while the other slid up his back, back and forth following his thrusts.  
It wasn’t long until instincts took hold of him again, and his movements sped up, accompanied by both of their moans and pants.  
The Jinn closed his eyes, feeling heat collect in his groin, and he savored the anticipation… until Salim stopped him again. He forced himself to do as he was asked, now finding it difficult to keep playing this game, especially considering this time the human pulled away from him, until his cock was out again; there was almost a sense of loss this time, brought forth by the need for release.  
He watched intently as Salim turned on his back and spread his legs for him, muttering about wanting to look at him, and everything washed away; even the arousal, for a second.  
This human. This man did not feel real.  
Ifrit leaned forward and kissed him again, long and hard, hugghed him close and pressed their bodies together. Salim’s hands on his cheeks felt nice and fresh compared to the heat that was roaring inside his body, but he did _understand_ it now. It wasn’t frustration, it wasn’t need to cum: it was Salim’s worship, feeding his soul and breathing new life into it. This mortal had chosen to pledge himself to Ifrit, chosen to love him.  
The last worshipper of the last Jinn.  
  
The god welcomed a sudden wave of relief for the wait they’d both gone through up until this point, because now, when he pushed inside Salim again, it felt different: it felt like it did the first time, in the hotel room, raw, pure and undeniably amazing. He watched as every thrust brought forth a different expression, a different sound out of the human’s lips. Salim arched his back and every time he opened his eyes he was staring back into the flames of the Jinn’s in complete adoration.  
Every time the man moaned his name, Ifrit felt a new wave of power build up, every kiss set loose sparks inside his muscles, and as the rhytm became faster and frantic the words escaping Salim’s mouth became jumbled and confused, until he couldn’t hold back anymore: he inhaled sharply and kissed the god almost desperately as his whole body tensed and twitched, and he spilled himself between their bodies.  
Ifrit did not stop, but he slowed down considerably, allowing Salim to ride the afterglow; the man clung to him like he was oxygen, and looked him straight in the eyes, asked him not to stop, to keep going; and still, the pace did not pick up.  
  
The man looked up at his god, a mix of satisfaction and confusion on his face; along the way he’d felt the Jinn’s frustration, but only now, as the high began to ride down, he realised what the other wanted: for him to be lucid.  
Almost on cue, the thrusts picked back up again, and this time they didn’t stop. Salim looked back up, wishing this would not end but knowing it was bound to; he asked Ifrit to go ahead, to let go, and the god did.  
  
It seemed almost like fire, passion burning as the Jinn came inside of him; Salim was happy, rewarded even, but there were no words to describe how Ifrit’s high felt: much similar a surge of electricity, the power rumbled inside of him, bringing forth a feeling he thought was long lost in the ages he’d been alive.  
Ifrit felt like a god again.  
  
When everything eventually died down, Salim refused to let go of the Jinn’s body, instead nuzzling his face against his chest, slowly running a hand over the skin and hair. Now that they were laying side by side he realised how small the bed really was, but he decided he’d gladly fall over during the night rather than move away from his god.  
He was rewarded with gentle, rough hands smoothing his hair back and rubbing his sides and spine, as the sheets were pulled over them; he glanced at the clock on the old tv, but could not make out the time as his eyes fluttered, heavy again.  
  
“Rest.” Ifrit whispered in his ear, placing gentle kisses on his cheeks and lips, and pulling him close.  
As the human slowly fell back into a resting, dreamless sleep, the Jinn contemplated on this fragile, soft treasure he was holding in his arms. His worshipper, he reiterated in his mind, whom he had almost dismissed and only now realised he _couldn’t_ give up anymore.  
And as his mind grew groggy as well, he thought back at the moments that had just transpired, noticing how he’d done everything Salim had asked for, and a small realization hit him.

  
Maybe he _does_ grant wishes, after all.


End file.
